


The Birds And The Nest

by ThoseFiveChicks



Series: Under The Bed [10]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Canon-Typical Violence, Damian Wayne is a Little Shit, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dubious Ethics, Ethics, Gen, Immortal Jason Todd, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Tim Drake is Robin, Urban Fantasy, Vampire Tim Drake, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-19 08:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22675138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoseFiveChicks/pseuds/ThoseFiveChicks
Summary: The Replacement's worried about being replaced.
Series: Under The Bed [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1187669
Comments: 12
Kudos: 360





	The Birds And The Nest

“I’m going to kill Damian.”

Jason sighed. Kicked off his boots beside the door.

“Hello to you too,” he said. Tim, in civvies for a change, was sprawled out face-down on his couch. Jason didn’t bother asking how he’d gotten in. “I should start charging you rent. Do you bother Dickiebird as much as me, or am I the only one you follow around?”

“I’m serious.” Tim pushed himself up, folding his legs underneath himself and leaning his hands on his knobby knees. His bones jutted out against the loose material of his sweatpants, and Jason thought, not for the first time, that Drake really needed to eat more. “I’m going to kill him.”

Jason snorted, rolling his eyes as he stalked over into the kitchenette and started grabbing himself something to eat. Alfred would probably cry if he knew how much microwaved shit Jason shoved in his face these days, but Jason would argue that consuming radioactive garbage was probably a good long-term tactic to get superpowers and, anyway, it wasn’t like it would kill him.

“Sure,” he said, popping open the freezer, “Just steal my whole shtick, why don’t you? Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Tim didn’t respond to the barb, and when Jason glanced over he saw him chewing on his lip, eyes downcast.

 _Aw shit_ , Jason thought, _he’s actually upset about something. Why_ didn’t _he go find Dick?_

“I’m sorry,” Tim said, “About taking Robin. I get it now.”

Jason pulled out a frozen personal pizza and closed the refrigerator. He popped it into the microwave, then leaned his hip against the counter, folding his arms as he got comfortable. He gave Tim his best _spill it_ look, the one he wore under his helmet when interrogating criminals.

“What brought this on?” he asked. “What did the hellspawn do this time?”

“He wants Robin,” Tim said. He still wouldn’t meet Jason’s eyes.

That couldn’t be it. Damian had done _much_ worse stuff than just demand something that didn’t belong to him.

“Okay,” Jason said. “Sucks to be him?”

“I think Bruce is going to give it to him.”

That.

Didn’t make sense.

“No he isn’t,” Jason said, “Robin’s _yours_.”

He was honestly kind of proud of the fact that he managed to say it without wincing. He still had his bad days, days where he was so furious and miserable he wasn’t fit for sentient company, but apparently this wasn’t one of them. Apparently this was one where he could tell Tim he owned the mask without bitterness clinging to his words.

It didn’t reassure the little bird. He curled in on himself, looking small and fragile on Jason’s couch.

“Bruce could take it away from me,” he said. “He could _make_ me give it to Damian.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Jason said firmly, and he knew in his bones it was true. Bruce wouldn’t. Not to Tim. Tim was a model fucking vigilante, perfect in every respect. He hadn’t been benched in years, not that Jason knew of, and Bruce wouldn’t take him off the streets for a sudden-onset case of nepotism, no matter _what_ Damian might think.

“He _might_ ,” Tim argued. He brought a hand up to his mouth, started gnawing at his thumbnail. His knee bounced. “What if the next time I slip up he decides I should be done for good, or– or just _likes_ Damian more? I’m not like you and Dick, he didn’t adopt me. He doesn’t _really_ think of me as his kid. I’m just– the kid next door who he’s obligated to take care of.”

The irony of Tim thinking _Jason_ had a better claim to the family than he did actually stunned Jason into momentary silence. Jesus. He knew Drake could work himself up into anxious fits sometimes but this was _ridiculous_.

“Tim,” he said firmly. Loudly. Tim finally looked up at him, falling entirely still. No more jittery leg.

Jason cleared his throat. Fuck, how did Dick _do_ all this inspirational shit? Jason already felt like someone had dropped a sandbag on his chest as he realized it was up to him to smooth this Robin’s rumpled feathers. He had to choose his words carefully, and that. . . that had never been Jason’s strong suit.

“Bruce isn’t going to take Robin away from you. Especially not for Damian. You know as well as I do that he’s _good_ at curbing the hellspawn’s bratty tantrums, he’s not going to give in to his whining.”

Tim made a face. Lowered his hand from his mouth.

“It’s less _whining_ and more _well-structured arguments for why he should be allowed to accompany Batman on patrol_. And snide comments to me when we’re alone, but, well. He’s kept his cool in front Bruce.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jason said. “Bruce isn’t going to make choices for you. If the brat wants the bird, _you’re_ the one he has to convince.”

That. . . actually seemed to do the trick. Tim nodded, a small and uncertain movement, and didn’t argue. Jason smiled. Look at him go. Providing moral support and good advice like he _hadn’t_ shot Tim several times in the past. Dick Grayson _who?_

“And, hey, look on the bright side,” Jason added, straightening up. “This could be your chance to move on. Y’know, eventually, once you make the brat squirm a bit first.”

“Move on?” Tim echoed. His big blue eyes peered out at Jason from under the dark sweep of his hair.

“Yeah,” Jason said, turning back to the microwave. There were only a few seconds left on the clock, but the cheese in the middle of his pizza still hadn’t melted. He added another minute. "What, did you think you were gonna be Robin _forever?_ "

There was a laugh around his words, humor in his tone, but when he turned to look at Tim over his shoulder it wasn't returned. Instead Tim just gave him that wide-eyed, bewildered look he'd sometimes get when Jason surprised him. For a super-genius, the kid sure couldn't handle the world's more unpredictable variables.

"I mean _yeah_ , I–"

Tim seemed to hesitate. At first, Jason thought he was just considering how to word his answer, but then he caught the way the vampire's eyes were working him over. Fuck, he knew that look. That was the look the bats gave him when they were worried something was going to set him off.

A year ago, that would've made Jason _itch_ to grab one of his handguns and run Tim off. He didn't like being treated like he was delicate, something that could go off at any moment. Of course, he also didn't like being treated like he was a trustworthy, well-adjusted member of the family either, which probably just went to show that the first approach was the correct one. Still, Jason would allow himself his hypocrisy because who ever said trauma had to make _sense?_

Tim worried his lower lip between his teeth some more, then finally seemed to decide that whatever he had to say was low-risk enough to put out into the world.

"I did. Think I'd be Robin forever. Didn't you?"

". . .no," Jason said, and he was surprised at how easily the answer came. How much he meant it. "Not really."

He'd known from the beginning that it wouldn't last. Well, not the _beginning_ beginning– he'd had to get over the wild rumors he'd absorbed first, internalize the knowledge that he wasn't going to be brainwashed by vampire mind fuckery into doing flips and kicking criminals. Then he'd had to settle into the idea of _wanting_ Robin at all. When he'd first moved in he'd sooner expected to be murdered in his sleep than willingly _join_ the spandex gang. But even after he'd put the mask on, even when Robin had been _everything_ to him, he hadn't thought of Robin as the final destination. He knew Dick, knew that, eventually, Robins left the nest. And he hadn't been afraid of that back then, not completely. Apprehensive, sure, in the same way he was apprehensive about _any_ thought that involved the future (because he was a cynical little shit who knew full well the universe would kick the crap out of him given half a chance), but not _scared_. The worst he'd ever feared was fucking up and having Robin taken _away_ , not giving it up to the passage of time.

He said as much to Tim.

"I knew Nightwing. Figured I'd move on eventually. I didn't plan on leaving the big man, but. Well. Shit happened." It didn't come out as bitter as it could have, and Jason just shrugged at the little bat. "But forget me, what about _you?_ You've got a five-year-plan for your _sock drawer_ , how did you not think about what you might do after Robin?"

“I dunno,” Tim said. He looked away again, staring at the floor, but it seemed less like he was avoiding Jason’s eyes this time and more like he was thinking hard. “When I took over after you died, it. . . it was because I was _worried_. I didn’t want Bruce to be alone. I mean, he had Nightwing, but they couldn’t pair up and still cover as much ground. Be as effective. So of course I didn’t think about leaving, and then–”

Tim shrugged, gesturing at himself. “Well. If I couldn’t get too old for the job, there was no _reason_ to ever leave. Right?”

Jason was quiet. The microwave beeped at him. He ignored it.

He and the replacement had gotten closer over the years. Obviously. If they hadn’t they wouldn’t even be _having_ this conversation; instead Tim would be desperately dodging bullets and Jason would be struggling not to get captured. That didn’t mean they’d talked a lot about this, about Robin. Sure, Jason had swung for the topic with the enthusiasm of a piñata player striking a bee’s nest, but that had been for insults and jabs. Not this. Not a _real_ discussion. _That_ they’d avoided.

“I never said sorry, did I?” Jason asked, voice quiet. “For how you turned.”

“ _Are_ you sorry?” Tim asked. Like he meant it. Like it was a genuine question.

It was.

Jason sighed, and now it was his turn to drop his gaze. He stared at the tile under his feet, scratching absently at his jaw.

“Sometimes,” he said. “Not always.”

There was the soft _shff_ of fabric on fabric, and when Jason looked up Tim had drawn his knees to his chest. He folded his arms around them, rested his chin on top. He looked back at Jason with half-lidded eyes.

He looked so young.

“I know why you did it,” Tim said. “I didn’t really believe it at first, and I hated you for that for a long time. I really did. And sometimes I still do, but– but I get it now.”

Jason let out a breath. The microwave beeped at him again, a little more insistently, and Jason said, “I’m gonna–”

“Yeah,” Tim said, closing his eyes in a half-nod, “Go ahead.”

Jason forewent the kitchen table and sat next to Tim instead, balancing his plate on his knees. He burned his fingers on the molten edge of his pizza before giving up and leaving it to cool. He didn’t know what to say. How did you even _begin_ to parse out how to phrase _sorry about tying you down and murdering you in a way that wasn’t totally malicious but was also super fucked up?_

Probably not like that.

“You don’t have to force it,” Tim said. His eyes were still closed. Jason wondered if he was listening to his heartbeat. “If you don’t mean it I don’t need to hear it.”

Jason screwed up his mouth.

“Well,” he said, “I can at least say I’m sorry that you’re stuck like this. I know it must suck ass to look like a tween for the rest of eternity.”

Tim shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me so bad most of the time. I’ve always looked younger than I am. I mean, I _was_ hoping to grow out of it, but. . .”

“Sorry,” Jason said again. “I just–”

He broke off. He still didn’t know how to word this. How not to disturb the fragile peace that had settled between them. Even at their best, most getting-along-est of times, Jason and Tim still bickered like a couple of alley cats. The fact that they were actually being halfway _nice_ to each other right now was bizarre. It put Jason off-balance.

Tim didn’t say anything. Giving him time to think, maybe, or maybe just thinking himself.

“When I died,” Jason eventually said, setting his words down like scrabble tiles, careful not to disturb the board. “It wasn’t– quick. Joker dragged it out for so fucking long and–”

His words choked off. Jason swallowed. Kept going.

“. . .point is, I got to look my death in the face for. A while. Hoping Bruce would get there in time. Hoping he’d save me. At some point I _knew_ I wasn’t going to survive and I thought Bruce could just turn me, but. . . he didn’t get there in time. And when I came back that was one of my biggest regrets. Never having turned. Winding up like. . . _this_.”

Jason gestured down at himself, even though Tim wasn’t looking. It made things a little easier, actually, not having his eyes on him. Made Jason feel like there was a little less pressure. He dropped his hands with a huff, poked at his pizza. Still too hot.

“So. Yeah. I found out there was another human kicking around with the bats and I decided to force the issue. You know the rest from there.”

“ _This is for your own good_ ,” Tim mumbled, and it took Jason a moment to realize he was quoting him. His stomach rolled.

Suddenly his pizza was a lot less appealing.

“Yeah,” he said, “Well. That’s what I thought.”

Still thought, sometimes. Every time Tim showed up on his doorstep with a wound that would be fatal to a human, part of Jason felt quietly smug. Which wasn’t fair, because Tim probably wouldn’t be anywhere _near_ as reckless if he knew a stray bullet could actually kill him– there were _tons_ of pure-human vigilantes who kicked ass, took names, and survived.

But that was only part of why Jason had done it.

Being human, being part of a family that didn’t grow with you, _knowing_ that they’d outlive you. . .

Jason had never _asked_ to be turned. Bruce had never offered. And Jason knew the pain of teetering on the edge of that precipice, wondering if you were _important_ enough to want to keep around forever and wondering if you were selfish enough to say _no_ if you were asked. Because Jason hadn’t wanted to live forever, not really.

But he’d wanted to leave his family even less.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Tim said, “I hate what you did. I hate it _so much_. I didn’t deserve to die like that and Bruce didn’t deserve what you put him through. It should’ve been _my choice_. But. . .”

Tim hesitated, then hedged, “And this is in _no_ way meant to let you off the hook, what you did was _horrible_ and–”

“I get it, replacement,” Jason interrupted, before Tim could work himself up into a rant. Tim sighed. Opened his eyes, peering sightlessly at the far wall.

“. . .I don’t know if I would’ve been able to commit to a decision either way.”

He said it softly, like it was a secret he’d never be able to unspeak.

Jason decided then and there that he was going to take it to whatever grave could finally manage to lay a claim to him.

“I know,” he said, not because he’d known Tim felt that way, but because Jason himself had. “That’s why I’m okay with you hating me for it. Hate’s easier. It’s better than indecision and confliction and regret.”

“Spoken like a card-carrying member of the _horrible coping mechanisms_ squad,” Tim said, but he didn’t argue, presumably because he was also part of said squad.

Silence settled over them. Jason prodded at his pizza again, found it slightly less scalding, and took advantage of the lull in conversation to start shoving it into his face. He hadn’t sliced it or anything so he wound up ripping bites from the edges like a feral dog.

“So,” he said, voice slightly muffled around his half-chewed mouthful of food, “Robin. You gonna let Damian have it?”

Tim made a face, screwing up his mouth and narrowing his eyes. “I don’t _want_ to. He’s such a whiny, entitled _brat_.”

“Preaching to the choir,” Jason agreed, “But you do have an opportunity here. Tell him he can’t have it until he stops being such a little shit.”

“I feel like that might make him _worse_. There’s a whole lot of spite packed into that tiny body.”

“Eh. Spite can be a good motivator, trust me. I’m not saying reverse psychology’s gonna work, but be honest and let him know you don’t think he’s got it in him to not be an asshole. Either he puts his focus into proving you wrong, or you get to keep Robin. Win-win.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to give Robin up either way,” Tim said. “I mean, I’ve fought on my own plenty, but I’m not sure if I can work without a partner.”

“You could be _my_ Robin,” Jason joked, then realized it wasn’t _entirely_ a joke, and then he shoved the last of his pizza into his mouth so he couldn’t say anything else stupid.

Tim snorted. The kid had a nice laugh. Jason was glad he was hearing it more these days.

“Oh yeah, _that_ ’ll pair well. _Red Hood_ , the brutally violent vigilante killer, and _Robin_.”

“You don’t have to be _Robin_ still,” Jason said. “You could be, I dunno, Red Robin or something. Robin Hood? Wait, that one’s already a thing.”

“Why do I have to be named after _you?_ ” Tim asked.

“I don’t see you volunteering any suggestions, replacement! Between the two of us, _I’m_ the one who’s managed a successful rebranding.”

Tim’s tone was dry. “And is this the look you were considering back when _you_ were Robin?”

Jason hesitated.

“. . .no,” he said eventually. “I thought I’d take a bird name, like Dick did. And I planned on having a costume a lot more like. Batman’s. The red was still a thing, though, I mean– I like red. I thought maybe I could do some red accents? I dunno, Timmy, I’m not a fashion designer. I had some ideas but I thought I’d have help finalizing them. Maybe get Alfred’s two cents.”

Not Batman’s. Jason had wanted to surprise him with whatever he went with. He’d wanted it to be a _good_ surprise, too, to get to see Bruce’s eyes widen that fraction of a millimeter before that small, proud smile touched his lips.

He’d spent a long time telling himself that the shock he’d gotten when Bruce realized who was behind the hood was just as good.

( _He lied to himself a lot_ )

“Bird name,” Tim mused. He unfurled himself, fishing his phone out of his pocket and burying his nose in it. The blue light from his screen caught the edges of his face, glimmered in his eyes.

“Damn,” Jason said, “Didn’t think I was _that_ boring. You millenials, always buried in your devices. No one _talks_ anymore.”

“Oh shut up, old man,” Tim said, rolling his eyes. There was something almost like a smile on his lips, though. “I’m just googling bird names.”

Jason set his plate aside, then laced his hands behind his head, leaning back against the couch. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, let out a considering breath.

“You could call yourself _Owl_ or something,” he said. “You know, ‘cuz you’re a smartass.”

“Suck my dick, Jason.”

“Buy me dinner first.”

Tim made a face. Jason wasn’t sure if it was at _him_ or if Tim was just thinking.

“I dunno. _Owl_ doesn’t have much gravitas to it.”

“Neither does Robin,” Jason countered.

“Sure, but Robin’s not supposed to be that scary.”

“And you’re going for _scary?_ If you want _scary_ you’d be better off just calling yourself _Red Hood, but with Chainsaw Guns_.”

“I could try _Jason Todd’s morning breath_ ,” Tim snarked, then, “I don’t know. I’m looking through a list of bird names and none of them really _feel_ right.”

“Try picking something you like the sound of, like, I dunno– wren.” Jason shrugged his shoulders.

“Is that what you wanted to be?” Tim asked, glancing over at him. He lowered his phone slightly, apparently more interested in Jason’s answer than his list of potential monikers.

“I dunno, it was on the list. Redthroat made it on there too. I thought it was funny, y’know, with the whole vampire thing? Plus they’re from Australia. All the most badass animals are from Australia.”

Jason paused. Tilted his head slightly.

“Actually, that might not be a bad name for _you_. One of their things is they can mimic other bird calls.”

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” Tim asked. He looked back down at his phone, eyebrows lowering slightly. Whoops. Jason hadn’t meant to _actually_ hurt the baby bird’s feelings.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, even though it had been. But he’d also meant, “You’re adaptable. You can pick things up quickly and you’re a better actor than any of us combined. I’ve seen you alter your fighting style in minutes based on an enemy you’ve never met. It’s thematic. It _works_.”

Tim was quiet for a long moment, and Jason was just about to conclude that he’d fucked everything up worse and that he should throw up his hands and leave his own apartment. Maybe go move into the wilderness and become a hermit. That way, no one could ever hand him their heart again and trust he wouldn’t spike it to the ground.

Then Tim nodded, the slightest movement, and tapped something out on his phone.

“Redthroat,” he said quietly, “That’s a possibility, then.”

Jason tried not to audibly sag with relief. No sense in letting the replacement know he gave a shit.

“You don’t have to decide right away anyway,” Jason said. “You’ve got time to think it over. Bounce it off a couple people. Hell, you could pin up some name ideas and just throw darts. Well, after a cursory google to make sure none of them are taken.”

“Mh,” Tim agreed, “I was thinking _hawk_ a minute ago, but. . .”

“Hawkwoman, Hawkman.”

“Right. And I don’t know either of them well enough to want that association.”

Something odd turned in the pit of Jason’s stomach. He swallowed. Tried to keep his tone nonchalant.

“But you’re okay with Redthroat?” He asked.

He must’ve done a good job of playing it off, because Tim didn’t even look up from his phone. Just kept scrolling.

“It’s a good name,” he said. “I can see why you were considering it.”

He didn’t say anything more, and Jason was content to resign himself to a quiet evening in. Not that it was technically evening anymore. By now it was somewhere past four AM, but since Jason’s sleep schedule was fucked to hell with all the vigilante-ing time had lost a lot of its cultural meaning. Jason wondered when Tim slept. Was this his evening or his morning?

“Did you mean it when you said I could work with you?”

Tim’s voice was quiet. He didn’t ask like he was afraid of the question, or afraid of being overheard, he asked like he was afraid if he said it too loud it would break something. It was similar to, but not quite the same as, the tone the bats used when tiptoeing around Jason’s landmine neuroses.

Jason was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out what that tone meant.

“Do you seriously _want_ to?” he asked. “There’s way better candidates out there. What about your boyfriend?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Tim said, “And Kon doesn’t need a partner.”

“Everyone needs help _some_ times.”

“Right,” Tim agreed, but he _agreed_ like he was _arguing_. “And when he needs help, I help him. He does the same for me. Doesn’t mean we should be partners.”

“Why do I feel like this was your speech when he asked you out?” Jason muttered.

“Besides,” Tim said, ignoring him, “He doesn’t live here.”

Jason snorted. “Like _that’s_ a problem when you’re superspawn. Dude could probably haul ass and be here in fifteen minutes tops. But fine, not him. How about that purple chick? She lives around here, right? Or at least works the circuit?”

“Spoiler. Her name is Spoiler.” Tim shot him a look. “I think it’s fair to say if you don’t know the name of the person you’re suggesting, you shouldn’t be suggesting them.”

“Oh shove it, replacement,” Jason said. “It’s not like I’ve ever met her. I just know you two were making combat-crush goo-goo eyes at each other.”

“She’s really good for an amateur,” Tim said, “And she wanted some pointers. I like her. Doesn’t mean–”

“You two should be partners,” Jason finished for him. “Seriously, Timmy, why are you fighting this so hard?”

“Why are _you?_ ” Tim countered. He shut off his phone, turning to give Jason his full attention. His jaw was set and there was a steely glint in his eyes, one that wasn’t dissimilar to Bruce’s. “I just asked if you meant it about teaming up, not for you to rattle off a list of everyone who even tangentially knows me. If you don’t actually want to partner up, that’s fine. You can just _say_ it.”

Jason blinked, slightly taken aback. Tim didn’t sound like Jason might have if _he’d_ said that, with all the underlying subtext he could make the phrase read– _just say you hate me, just say you can’t trust me, just say I’m not worth it_. Tim sounded annoyed at him dodging the question, but that was about it. Jason wondered what that meant. Did he trust that Jason did, in fact, like him? Did he not care if he didn’t? Or was it just a sign that Tim was significantly more mentally stable than he was, less prone to begging for attention and praise while actively shoving people away?

Shit. Was that what he was doing? Pushing Tim away?

It was, wasn’t it. Maybe it was the weirdly open and honest conversation they’d had, maybe it was Jason being unnerved by how much he _had_ meant the offer to partner up, but whatever way you sliced it Jason had just fallen back into the habit of nudging the bats out of his personal bubble every time he felt himself starting to go all mushy on them. He sighed, feeling like it was pulled from the very depths of his ribs. _Fuck_.

Okay. Try again.

“That’s not what I mean, Tim,” he said– not replacement, not Drake, not Timmy or Timmo or any other variation. “I’m just saying you have better options.”

Tim’s expression smoothed out. It wasn’t a soft look, not by a long shot, but there was something unreadable and friendly around his eyes that made Jason want to squirm. He didn’t, because he’d stared down Gotham’s worst without even a twitch. He could handle the discomfort of someone being nice to him.

“Maybe I don’t _want_ a better option.”

Jason took it back, he was gonna jump out the window.

“ _Kid_ ,” he groaned, leaning his head back against the couch and squeezing his eyes shut, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“You’d come back,” Tim said. He sounded faintly amused. “I guess I really _will_ be paying rent if we do this.”

 _That_ made Jason’s head snap back down, eyebrows drawing together as incredulity painted his features. Tim looked back at him, nonplussed.

“You wanna _move in_ with me?” Jason asked. Had he gotten gassed with something without realizing it? “Me. You wanna move in with _me_. Jason Todd. _That’s_ who you want to move in with.”

“I know who you are, Jason,” Tim lied, because it _had_ to be a lie, because there was no _way_ Tim would say that to him if he knew what he was saying. Maybe _Tim_ had been gassed. “I’m not trying to impose or anything. I _could_ get my own apartment, God only knows I have the money for it. And it’s not like we even know we’re _doing_ this yet.”

 _Don’t freak out, Jason_ , is what Jason heard him saying, _because we haven’t even committed yet and you’re already having commitment issues_.

For all that Jason was impulsive, it seemed like maybe the actual reality of following through on one of his spur-of-the-moment ideas was a little bit, slightly, _completely_ terrifying. Huh. Jason would’ve thought he’d have learned that lesson by now. In other forms. Forms like bullets and knives and crowbars. But no, apparently what it took was the idea of baby bird sitting in his living room in the morning drinking coffee that he’d wind up hurling into the kitchen sink in an hour or so. It was sickeningly domestic, the thought.

“Why,” Jason said, which was both a question for Tim and a general plea to the universe.

Tim shrugged. “If we were working together we might as well go all-in. Plus, it’d be convenient. You’d be _right there_ if I wanted to bounce some ideas off you or get your perspective on something.”

He paused for a moment, then stressed, “ _If_ you wanted to, and _if_ we decided to do this.”

“Right,” Jason said, “You don’t even know if you’re giving up Robin yet. Jumping the gun a little, huh Timmy?”

“You’re the one who keeps saying I plan too much,” Tim snarked. “You don’t get to complain about me thinking ahead. Going over the possibilities.”

“No, I definitely do,” Jason argued, because _hey_ , just because he was _right_ didn’t mean he had to be _happy_ about it. His argument lacked heart, though. _Jumping the gun_. Right. There was that. He’d almost forgotten, and how fucked up was _that?_

“Jason?” Tim asked tentatively, because apparently Jason’s face or heartbeat or _some_ thing had tipped him off to his sobering thoughts. “You good?”

“I mean, that’s the question, isn’t it?” Jason leaned forward, bracing his elbows against his knees. It brought him down onto the same eye level as the replacement, but Jason avoided his gaze. Stared at the coffee table, at his empty plate with its smudges of grease and sauce, down at his hands. Anywhere that wasn’t Tim’s face.

“. . .oh,” Tim said. “Oh, right. You still. . .”

“Break the bat-rules on a regular basis? Yeah,” Jason agreed. His voice was acerbic. “Not nearly as often as I used to, but often enough.”

“Right,” Tim said, then, “Could you–”

He broke off. _Stop_ , Jason finished in his head. Or _not_. Could you not, Jason? Could you not murder people? Could you _not_ be a serial killer with a vigilante streak?

He knew why Tim hadn’t finished the question. Jason tended to react. . . _badly_. To requests that he stop killing. Jason tended to react badly to most things, honestly, and he _could_ be honest about it. He could honestly say that he would lie his ass off if any of them ever asked if he’d _tried_.

He had. He’d tried a few times, actually. It wasn’t like him and smoking, it wasn’t like Jason was _addicted_ to it. It was that he and the bats had a fundamental disagreement. They thought anyone could change, could be better. In a more concrete, less _power of friendship_ way, they also believed they didn’t have the right to decide who should live or die. And in a way, Jason agreed with that, because his judgement was _shit_. He _shouldn’t_ be allowed to hold other people’s lives in his hands.

But. . .

( _one more_ _Felipe Garzonas_ )

The second time he’d seriously tried to stop, holding out for almost a month without a grave to his name, he’d caved when one of his girls was assaulted by an officer. _Gotham’s finest_. They weren’t _his_ girls, not in that sense, but in the sense that he was _their_ vigilante. They’d claimed him. Accepted him into their trust. He was the one who checked in to make sure they were doing okay. He was the one they counted on to have their backs when they were threatened.

He was the one who’d shot that pig in the fucking head with no regrets.

There were people in this world that Jason honestly, wholeheartedly believed deserved to die. Rapists. Killer cops. _The Joker_. And it seemed like every time he tried to stop killing the universe threw someone in his face that no one else would put down, someone who would go on hurting people until someone hurt _them_. Until someone _ended_ them.

“I can’t promise anything,” Jason said at last. Because that, at least, was true. Jason _couldn’t_ promise anything. Not that he’d stop, and not that he’d even _try_. Not that he’d even _want_ to.

( _but_ )

“But I won’t try to drag you into my shit,” he continued. “That much I _can_ say for sure. _If_ we were to team up, and _if_ you even hand Robin over to the brat, I’m not gonna make you stand idly by while I blow some fucker’s brains out.”

He formed a finger-gun with one hand. Sent an imaginary bullet into the dead bullseye of his empty plate.

“Any murder would be strictly on my time. Or at the _very_ least I’d have you leave the room first. Avoid upsetting your delicate sensibilities.”

“I wouldn’t go,” Tim said, like the realistic asshole he was. “I’d try to stop you.”

“And just like that our partnership would fall apart. Tell me again why you’re not gonna hook up with Superboy? Have you _seen_ his ass?”

Jason gestured in the air as if grabbing a handhold on that rock-climbing-wall of a body. Not that his ace ass would know what to do if he _did_ get a grip on there, but still. It served his purpose of injecting some humor into the conversation and also attempting to make Tim uncomfortable enough to drop this. Two birds.

. . .two birds.

“Jason,” Tim said firmly, and Jason squeezed his eyes tight-shut before grudgingly meeting Tim’s gaze.

“Fine. I’ll stop making passes at your boyfriend,” he said, though it was halfhearted. Tim bumped his knee against Jason’s, a drawn look on his face.

“ _Jason_ ,” he said again, “Come on. I’m being serious here.”

“So am I,” Jason said, “I really _do_ think the kid has a great ass. And shoulders. And. . . I’m serious about the partnership thing. It’d be great. I’d love to do it. It’d never work out.”

“We could _try_ ,” Tim said.

Jason let out a breath. “You don’t ever quit, do you?”

“S’how I became Robin.”

Jason looked at Tim, examining his expression. Tim saw him looking, marshalled his features, stopped gnawing absently at his lower lip. He still managed to look like Jason had crashed into the middle of some distant memory, derailing his reminiscing. Jason wondered how it had actually gone down. He’d thought, at his lowest points, that Bruce had sought Tim out himself but– no. Of course not. Bruce would’ve isolated himself after Jason’s death, turtled up and convinced himself he shouldn’t let any human close ever again. If Jason had been in his right mind when he’d first come back, he would’ve known that. Sometimes he still wasn’t in his right mind.

But he was getting better. In stutter-stops and backtracks, sure, but he was still _getting_ there. The fact that _better_ didn’t seem to be heading in the same direction as _not a killer_ was. . . not great. Probably meant there was something broken in Jason that wouldn’t ever get fixed, like a limb that had healed wrong and grown around the crooked bone. You could reset bones.

But you had to break them again.

“Why do you wanna be my partner so bad?” Jason asked. “Like I said, I’m not your only option. And I’m literally your worst one.”

“And I told you I don’t _want_ a better one.”

“But _why?_ ” Jason pressed. “Help me understand this. Because there’s _no_ way it would actually work out. And before you try to go Grayson on me, _because we’re family_ is _not_ an adequate answer here. Watching each other’s backs isn’t the same thing as a full-on team-up, especially with the shit I get up to in my free time.”

Tim tilted his head slightly. His eyes narrowed a bit, and his eyebrows caught a crease between them.

 _Oh fuck_ , Jason thought, _why did I ask for a serious answer? I think he’s actually going to give me one_.

“You know I used to follow you around,” Tim said quietly. “You _and_ Batman. And part of it was that you were great photo material, but. . . I also admired you. I don’t think I ever really lost that, even with. . . everything.”

Tim looked down at his hands. His hair fell into his eyes, obscuring them from Jason’s view. Jason fought the urge to reach out and brush it back with a gentle hand. He had no idea where the fuck _that_ came from. Some of Grayson’s touchy-feely rubbing off on him?

( _Jason had always enjoyed his touch more than he’d let on_ )

( _Sometimes he thought Dick might even know that_ )

“I guess that’s why,” Tim all but whispered. “Because you were _my_ Robin.”

Jason just stared at him for a moment.

 _Fuck it_.

He reached out, pulling Tim into a hug. The vampire outright _squeaked_ , and for a horrible moment Jason remembered ( _holding him down, telling him it was going to be okay, that this was_ for his own good) but then Tim relaxed. His bony shoulders dug into Jason’s chest. He was cold to the touch.

“Have you been eating enough?” Jason asked. He rested his chin on top of Tim’s head, felt the cool puffs of Tim’s unnecessary breath ghosting against the side of his throat.

“I’ve been eating plenty, _Alfred_ ,” Tim said. “Don’t change the subject.”

“M’not changing the subject,” Jason said. “Bear with me. I don’t think you sleep enough either.”

“I sleep _plenty_.”

“And boytoy and girlbuddy aside, I don’t think you’re getting enough social interaction.”

“Are you seriously just going to insult me all night?” Tim asked. He sounded somewhere between incredulous and grumpy.

Jason squeezed his shoulders a bit.

“What I’m _trying_ to say is, I don’t think the partners thing would work out. I think we could give it a shot, maybe, _if_ we decide we want to and _if_ you give up Robin. But you know what would work out even _worse?_ Roommates. We’d be a disaster. I’m the only one I know who’s worse at self-care than you are.” Jason paused. Reconsidered. “Maybe Bruce.”

“Definitely Bruce,” Tim agreed, but he sounded distracted. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, then, with the same thoughtless impulsivity that he’d poured into _you could be my Robin_. . .

“Fuck it. Let’s be roommates.”

**Author's Note:**

> Why do I keep writing so late at night? It's not good for me or for my writing. I am a fool.


End file.
